Is It Too Late for Tim Tebow to Be Saved?

On a Friday afternoon in October, Tim Tebow took refuge in an air-conditioned conference room near Kyle Field, the 100,000-person stadium nestled in College Station, Texas. He placed his backpack on the hardwood floor and, clad in a charcoal shirt that exposed a cross necklace, settled in. The room smelled of catered beef; "Go, Aggies!" signage hung on the walls. The kickoff between Texas A&M and the University of Alabama was roughly twenty-four hours away, but a smattering of fans were already camped out in front of the field, some yelling Tebow's name from maroon tents. Winner of the Heisman Trophy in his sophomore year at the University of Florida (2007), much-watched first-round NFL draft pick (2010), philanthropist, author, controversial religious advocate, and now television commentator for ESPN's SEC Nation, Tebow was at the field not to play but for a production meeting.

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He is a man full of contradictions. This past September, the player who was once heralded as the most exciting quarterback in the NFL, who was subsequently handed from one team to the next—four in all—was unceremoniously released from the Philadelphia Eagles and became a free agent, making him the country's most famous unemployed athlete. He's comfortable with the egos on a red carpet but preaches humility as part of his work with various Christian organizations and his own foundation. He's passionate about professional football but adamant about only playing one position—quarterback. The tabloid press avidly reports on rumors about his love life, most recently involving a former Miss Universe, but Tebow, whether he intends to or not, remains one of the most visible faces of abstinence. While he's the butt of football-pundit jokes and commentary, he can still induce tears of joy among strangers when he goes about his day. A longtime walking puzzle, he's now at a new and peculiar juncture that may be more complicated than Urban Meyer's playbook at its worst.

Tebow made his way around the oval table, offering some hugs and high fives to the dozen or so cohosts and members of the SEC Nation production staff in the room. He sat down and fixed his eyes on a call sheet, his left hand taking notes, his right poking at a spinach salad. Discussion revolved around the various pieces of college-football news of late, eventually landing on Steve Spurrier, the legendary University of South Carolina coach who on October 12 announced he was leaving the team midseason. Had he done the right thing by bowing out, having paid his dues in the sport over a storied career, or had he left his team in the lurch?

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Seated across the table from Tebow was Paul Finebaum, one of his coanchors and a staple of Southern-football commentary, who said he didn't have a problem with Spurrier's mid-season departure. Marcus Spears, a former college and NFL defensive lineman, disagreed, saying that Spurrier merely didn't like the way the season was going and quit.

"Tim?" a producer asked.

Tebow wasn't about to throw Spurrier, a fellow former Florida player and Heisman winner, into sports television's meat grinder. Tebow's niceness and aw-shucks demeanor are as famous as his passing arm, fueling his popularity as a player and pundit in a conference that is big on manners. But it would be dangerous to label Tebow as passive.

On air, Tebow said that while he loved Spurrier, he was "a little disappointed. Because one of the greatest things about college football is it's about character development, developing young men." He added, "When you start something, I believe you should finish it."

***

Tebow's comments pointed to a man who remains at odds with the world that made him famous. And in some ways, he still doesn't quite belong there. And maybe he never did in the first place.

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While his strange position in recent football history has afforded him fame and fortune, it doesn't clearly point to what will happen next. And as Tebow continued his banter that afternoon, he seemed completely oblivious to what many in and out of College Station that weekend really wanted to know: What the hell is Tim Tebow doing these days anyway?

Most people at 28 are launching their careers, but Tebow is battling the stigma of naysayers claiming the best was behind him, left on the football fields of the Florida swamps years ago.

While he's the butt of football-pundit jokes and commentary, he can still induce tears among strangers.

Perhaps more frustrating than having to make decisions is having thousands of people asking you about them. Or if it's too late for you. The off-field afterlives of professional athletes can be spent in used-car lots or executive suites, on the streets or in multiple mansions. Tebow's future is as much of a wild card as anyone's.

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"I don't mind," Tebow says just after the SEC Nation meeting wraps, referring to the endless questions about his future, "because people are intrigued. I also think that can be a really good thing. When you try to be a role model, not everybody can relate to some of your highs—awards, championships. But everybody can relate to the lows. Everybody's gotten fired from a job or gotten cut. People learn more about you in those lows than they do in the highs."

Nor does he seem in any rush to make major life decisions. In addition to his work with SEC Nation, Tebow maintains an intense travel schedule akin to that of a working professional athlete, but now it's mostly filled with foundation and speaking events, along with some family time. He keeps a home in Florida but says he is seldom there. Only this year did Tebow start drinking coffee, he says, preferring it mixed with grass-fed butter and English toffee flavoring ("The Tebomb?").

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He continues: "I think it's also important for people to really see that your identity doesn't come just from what you do but who you are. My relationship with Jesus Christ is the most important thing to me. Because of that, I don't have to change whether I am one of the most popular guys in football."

I joke with Tebow about trying to lobby for fifth-year-senior status at Florida so he can hop on the field again. (The team is playing this Saturday in the SEC Championship against Alabama, airing on CBS.) "I wish!" he says. But more seriously, what path is he planning to take? Coach? Pastor? Motivational speaker? Full-time commentator? Politician?

Rumors abound every election cycle that the road Tebow is weighing most seriously is that of public service, perhaps in the form of political office. It would certainly fall in line with his mission of trying to help others. In a country that has elected Ronald Reagan, Jesse Ventura, and Arnold Schwarzenegger to public office, Tebow's lack of conventional political credentials and a law or business degree—he majored in family, youth, and community sciences at Florida—may be perceived as an asset.

Tebow shakes off the politics suggestion, along with many others I give him regarding what people are speculating he will do next. But he doesn't fully expunge any of them, either, keeping all doors open.

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"I don't know," Tebow says. "That's a really good question. Regardless of whatever I do, I know what my purpose is: to make a difference in people's lives."

He adds, "Right now it's about finding what the right opportunity is and what the right calling is."

Then it was time for Tebow to go to dinner, no media allowed. Joey was waiting.

***

The Tim Tebow Foundation began in earnest five years ago as a way to help honor the requests Tebow received from children who were suffering from life-threatening diseases and wanted to meet him. While many athlete foundations exist chiefly as vessels for tax alleviation or photo opportunities, people close to the foundation say that Tebow himself spends a significant amount of time with the organization, from orchestrating events to making decisions about its inner workings to dealing with individual inquiries from children and families. Every weekend during football season, he flies a child with a life-threatening illness and his or her family to wherever he had been playing or is now commentating and takes them out to dinner and on set. On the weekend of the A&M game, he took 11-year-old Joey, a bespectacled boy in a baseball cap, and his two sisters out for a meal in College Station that night and onto the SEC Nation set the next day.

"Before starting to meet with these children, I might've been thinking, The entire country's watching me; they're going to judge me on this," Tebow says. "But at the end of the day it's just a game. Understanding that I'm just fighting in a game but this kid is fighting for their life, it really puts things into perspective." Thus far he's had dinner with fifty-seven children, many of whom he keeps in touch with. "When we talk about having a life of significance and meaning, it's not about fame or money or resources," he says. "It's about people and lives and hearts. That's my biggest passion in life."

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***

Tebow's path has been a peculiar one, as biblical as it's been bizarre.

He is the son of evangelical missionaries and is the youngest of five siblings, a place in the family constellation that has made him a self-described "huge people person," highly agreeable, a natural performer. "I am not someone who's a loner," Tebow says. "I don't like being by myself. I have people around all the time. I'm very inclusive with people. The more the merrier."

A top high school and college prospect, Tebow was recruited by the University of Florida, where he soared, his "Tebowing"—sideline prayer poses—and John 3:16 eye paint sparking both inspiration and ire. He was the college quarterback even old ladies knew, discussed, wanted their grandchildren to date. He was also the quarterback cynical sports reporters hate-watched.

At the end of his college career, Tebow declared his goal was to become an NFL quarterback, a seeming inevitability that placed him in the first round, 25th overall, of the draft. From there the path started to get bumpy. He was passed from team to team, and the same commentators who gushed over his college career began to cast Tebow as an oddball has-been. Always the optimist, Tebow dodges any display of sadness. Even though he is currently without a team, he maintains a militaristic handle on his diet-and-exercise routine, overseen by a trainer. On some level, the r word—retirement—still seems dirty.

***

For years, commentators marveled at Tebow's ability to hold on to things—beliefs, conviction, footballs. But really, it turns out, he's mastering the art of letting go.

Tebow comes off as the rare human who is completely at peace with embracing life's uncertainties. And this is what makes him both endearing and unsettling: his idea that the only constant is change and that happiness is best attained by rolling with it all.

"I use the term that I'm always 'trusting God with my life' and that 'God has a plan,'" Tebow says. "A lot of people throw that phrase around. The interesting thing is if you believe it, you can't actually be bitter or upset about something at the same time. Now, obviously we can be disappointed—'Oh, I wish this happened'—but then you move on.

"Was my identity found in those highs when we were making a playoff run?" Tebow continues, referring to the 2011 season with the Broncos. "Was my identity found a year later when I was being cut? My identity wasn't found in either one of them, I was excited, proud, happy, but that's not what made me, that's not who I was, and that's not who I am."

For years, commentators marveled at Tebow's ability to hold on to things—beliefs, conviction, footballs. But really, it turns out, he's mastering the art of letting go.

After appearing on the SEC Nation Saturday morning pregame show in College Station, Tebow would board the bus and head to Austin for back-to-back faith-based speaking engagements, then to a series of states for a similar calendar of speaking, family, and announcing obligations. He smiles for selfie-demanding fans, but doesn't shy away from moments of deep, theological introspection. His current itinerary continues to mimic his contradictory path. He still posts updates to fans on Facebook and Twitter but dodges concrete announcements about his next move. He still pores over game film but isn't setting foot on the field.

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Commentators, fans, players, coaches, and online trolls will continue to buzz about what Tebow 2.0 will look like because Tebow's future is uncertain. Surely he'll be at the college football playoffs on New Year's Eve, which ESPN is broadcasting; beyond that, no one can be sure. But he seems too preoccupied with being Tim Tebow to pay much attention. "I think that's what I also want people to know about my journey," he says. "Regardless of your ups and downs, it doesn't change who you are, and that's a blessing."